


Alright

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Inspired by Real Events, Season/Series 04, Short, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-11
Updated: 2008-07-11
Packaged: 2018-12-27 14:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12082737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Season 4. What if Justin got cancer instead of Brian?





	Alright

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Justin’s POV

The very worst thing about the cancer was being told the diagnosis. The second worst thing was telling Brian about it.

I’d never been so shit scared in my life. That day that I walked into Brian’s office at Kinnetik and told him I had something to tell him, I was so terrified I could hardly form the words.

I fucked it all up, of course. I blundered blindly through the story about how I’d found the lump in my testicle, about how I’d been too scared to tell him so I’d gone to the medi-clinic alone instead. I told him how they’d sent me to a ‘specialist’.

I was so upset I couldn’t remember half the stuff the oncologist had told me. I couldn’t even remember the name of the surgery I had to have, although I was all too familiar with its nature.

I remember repeating over and over that I was so fucking scared. I remember saying that I was only 20, I was too young. Too young to have cancer, too young to die.

We’d been sitting side by side on Brian’s office sofa and I’d been staring down at my lap, focusing hard on my fingernails. I was willing myself with every ounce of willpower I had not to allow the tears building beneath my eyelids to escape.

I had to be strong, had to be a man.

When I’d told him everything I could, Brian- who’d been completely silent throughout my confession- reached out and touched my arm softly with two fingers. I looked up at him for the first time.

With a shock the registered somewhere deep in my sub-conscious, I saw pure, naked fear etched into every line of his face, reaching right into the depths of his green-gold eyes.

An emotion I couldn’t identify- guilt, pain, helplessness- welled up inside me and I felt a lump rising in my throat accompanied by the tell tale burning behind my eyes. Even as I told myself I _wouldn’t_ cry, tears escaped from the edges of my eyes and cascaded down my face, my indrawn breath coming out as an ugly, shuddering sob.

I felt Brian take me almost roughly into his arms, pulling me against him hard, pressing his face against my hair.

Longing for comfort, something solid and real I can grasp hold of, I put my own arms around his neck and squeezed hard, still making a half-hearted effort to quell my ragged, gulping breaths long enough to say something.

“Shhh…don’t say anything.” I felt his words, slightly trembling, vibrate against my chest. “I know. It’s going to be alright, Justin. We’ll get through this, I swear.”

I wanted to believe him. I wanted him to make everything alright.

~~

**Three Weeks Later**

‘Post-surgical options.’

Fuck. Why couldn’t they be honest and just call them ‘strategic plans to make you better by dragging you unceremoniously through the fires of hell’?

Yeah, that would be way more suitable.

I was contemplating this at two thirty in the morning as I lay spread-eagled on Brian’s bathroom floor, staring morosely up at the ceiling.

At least it was nice and cool down on the floor- may be a little hard, but I could sacrifice that inconvenience for the close proximity of the toilet.

The last time I’d been sick in the bed, Brian had shushed my stammering apologies with a harsh ‘Shut the fuck up and go back to sleep’ before relocating me to the couch and changing the sheets.

I was sure he was going to make me sleep on the couch all night, but when I woke up the next morning I was back in the bed, tucked securely into the crook of his body.

Tonight (well, ‘morning’, technically speaking), I’d saved him the trouble by extracting myself from the bed when it was apparent dinner was about to make an encore, and making a silent dash for the bathroom.

Now the problem was I couldn’t get back off the floor.

Instead, I lay there, waiting for the nausea to subside, and tried to make myself feel better by alphabetizing conditions that were worse than radiotherapy.

A for Alzheimer’s, B for Bubonic plague, C for Cholera, D for Dengue, E for _Ebola_ , F for Flesh-eating disease, G for _Giardia_ , H for Hemorrhagic fever, I for Irritable bowel syndrome…

“What the fuck are you doing on the floor?”

Brian’s voice cut through my thoughts just as I had reached “S for Scarlet fever”. I looked in the direction of his voice and saw him in the bathroom doorway, bleary-eyed, tousle-haired and completely naked.

“I’m making bathroom tile angels” I explained as I made a valiant attempt to unpeel myself from the floor.

The world swung alarming out of focus and I hastily decided that my urge to get off the floor was really not that desperate. Instead, I opted for rolling onto my frount, propping myself up on my elbows, and lowering my pounding head into my hands.

It felt like a very small construction crew with jack-hammers had crawled in through my ear when I was asleep and were now energetically excavating part of my cranium.

Brian huffed in exasperation, closed the distance between us and grasped me under the arms, lifting me to my feet. I did actually try to stand up, but I sort of ended up distributing most of my weight onto his chest and arms. Adjusting his grip slightly to accommodate my dead weight, he peered into my face.

“Done?” he asked, massaging the sides of my neck gently with his fingers. Then, adding as an after thought, “Don’t you dare puke on me.”

“No. I’m done…for now.” I murmured tiredly, while repeating “I will not puke on Brian, I will not puke on Brian” over and over to myself.

He hauled me back into the bedroom and gently laid me down on my side of the bed. After drawing the soft indigo sheets up to my chest, he reached for the ever-present bottle of water on his bedside table and uncapped it.

“Drink it,” he ordered, handing the bottle to me.

Brian had this thing about me getting dehydrated after I’d been sick- something about losing electrolytes and salts essential to one’s biostatic equilibrium. Whatever.

He was probably just afraid he’d come home one day to find me mummified, immortalized forever, knelling over his toilet.

Even though the water made me feel queasy again, I drank it to avoid an argument which, I knew, would ultimately lead to Brian getting his way. I swallowed a few mouthfuls, washing away the sour taste of regurgitation, and put the bottle down on the ledge by the side of the bed.

Brian looked as if he was going to say something, but closed his mouth again. Instead, he pulled me into his arms and rearranged us until my back fit comfortably against his chest.

“Go to sleep, Sunshine,” he ordered, spooning me tenderly into his body.

I twined my hands in his and held them tightly against my chest, knowing again that everything would be alright.

~~

**One Week Later**

Brian POV

Although I would never admit it to anyone except myself, I got very little work done on the days Justin went for radiotherapy.

I’d spend the morning sitting in the clinic waiting area, pretending to work on my laptop, but would instead be wondering if this was the day one of the nurses (dressed in an ex-Soviet Chernobyl radiation suit) would sweep out of the swing doors to tell me they’d accidentally fried my Significant Other to a smouldering crisp.

I’d spend the lunch hour back in the loft, badgering and bullying Justin into eating something because the doctors had told me- again- that they were ‘concerned about his weight loss’.

Finally, we’d inevitably have an argument (which I would always lose) as to whether or not I would take him to Daphne’s/ Debbie’s / Jennifer’s, so he wouldn’t be alone all day while he recovered.

After convincing me yet again that he didn’t need someone watching over him while he slept and puked his brains out (not at the same time, thank God), I’d leave Justin in the loft and haul my ass to Kinnetik where I'd spend the rest of the afternoon resisting the urge to call him every five minutes to make sure he hadn’t died.

At five o’clock, after trying, and failing, to look over the minutes from the last executive meeting, I picked up the phone and dialled the loft’s number. The phone rang one, twice, three times. Shit, hadn’t I told the kid to keep the phone by the bed? After the fifth ring, the phone was picked up and something that I took to be a greeting, but sounded more like grunting was muttered down the line.

“Jesus, it’s a good thing I’m not someone calling for me. They’d think they’d called the Sick Animal Hospital by accident.” Justin didn’t answer, but I heard his muffled ‘piss off’ and continued, “Did I wake you up?”

“No.” His voice was echoing suspiciously.

“You’re not on my fucking bathroom floor again, are you?”

I had found him, on more than one occasion, curled in the fetal position on the bathroom tiles, arguing pathetically that the trip to the toilet was too far from the bed when he was about to toss his cookies.

“You stupid twat- get off the fucking floor and get your ass back into bed. Now, or I’ll tie you to the bedpost and leave you with a bed pan next time.”

“Ok, Ok...” I heard some rustling on the other end of the line, a thud, a muffled curse, a few more thumps, and finally the squeak of bed springs. “Shit...Oops…There, I’m back in bed. Are you happy?”

“Good Boy.” I applauded, not really wanting to know what ‘oops’ meant. “I’m going to pick up something for dinner on my way home. What do you want?…No, you cannot have ice cream for dinner…I don’t care if it tastes better coming back up, you’re going to have something wholesome and nourishing…Fuck you- I do NOT sound like Mary Poppins…”

We argued about our next meal for a few minutes before, slightly jaded by the Mary Poppins comment, I decided to put my foot down and told him he would damn well eat whatever I brought home and enjoy it. (I made a mental note to pick up some ice cream.)

“Fine,” I huffed moodily. “Be like that. Jerk Face”

“I will, Princess, thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, asshole. So, are you coming home anytime soon? Puking and sleeping is so incredibly boring. If you’re going to force feed me, you may as well have to grace to provide the pre-dinner entertainment.”

“You are one demanding twink, Sunshine.” I told him, unable to keep the amusement out of my voice. “I’ll be home in half an hour- and I’d better not find you on the bathroom floor.”

As I put the phone down, I felt better. It would be alright.

~~~

**That night**

“Fuck-it’s no use. Brian, stop.”

I looked up from my position between Justin’s legs where I'd been administering my expertise in an attempt to get a rise out of him.

He’d grabbed me under the chin, pulling me off his impossibly soft dick as he sat up. His face betrayed his feelings as it always had, and he looked as if he might burst with frustration and indignation.

“Why can’t I do it?!” he wailed, “I can’t even get it up when you’re blowing me- can there be a more definite sign of failure?”

Jesus, the kid was such a drama princess.

I remained where I was, lying on my belly with my hands at his waist, and gently kissed his inner thighs. I slid my hands up his back soothingly, encouraging him to lean back as I moved forwards, trailing kisses up along his chest and collarbones.

Letting out another soft sigh of frustration, he lay back on the bed, and allowed me to lie down on top of him.

“Hey- relax, Crackerjack.” I whispered in his ear as I took his face in my hands, “It’s only temporary. Testicles are like kidneys- one works as well as two.”

“Well something sure as to hell is not working down there,” He sniffed, “What if I never get another hard-on again?”

When I stifled a laugh, and he burst out, “You asshole- it’s not funny! I’m fucking twenty years old and going through male menopause!”

“Hey, don’t queen out on me, OK?” I chided gently as I stroked the hair off his forehead, repositioning my legs so they were on either side of his, pressing us more closely together.

“Your body gets blasted with industrial strength radiation on a regular basis. Your sperm are probably convinced there’s been a nuclear holocaust and are still waiting for the all-clear.”

I raised myself on my arms and yelled “ALL CLEAR!” in the direction of Justin’s errant anatomy. After a pregnant pause, I lowered myself on my elbows again, “Nope."

Justin shook his head and gave me his sunshine smile, which was what the goal of my pseudo-military antics had been. He twisted his body suddenly and clung tightly to me with his arms and legs, surging upward against me.

My sperm were certainly responding to the ‘all clear’, and seemed to be responding to a resounding ‘all hands on deck’.

“Fuck me.”

It was not his usual demanding hiss, but more like a cry of desperation,

“Please Brian. I want you…I need you. Please?”

Since the operation, I’d restricted myself to giving him hand and blowjobs (or attempts at them rather). I’d been concerned about harming him in some way, somehow making it worse.

“Ok,” I agreed grudgingly, looking into his pleading eyes, “But we’re going real slow, got it? Slow, or not at all.”

He nudged me with his chin and made a move to roll over, but I stopped him with a restraining hand on his belly. I wanted to watch his face to know if I was causing discomfort.

He was so absolutely trusting, his eyes brimming with emotion, his hands pleading for contact, his body desperate for the familiar, safe feeling of me inside him.

I prepared us quickly and entered him as gently as I could. He closed his eyes and wrapped his legs around me again, running his hands from my hair to my neck and down my back.

He squeezed his muscles rhythmically so that I barely had to thrust at all before I was approaching my climax.

I nuzzled at his neck and leaned down to kiss him just as I came, gasping into his mouth as his tongue caressed my lips and teeth. After a few moments, I raised myself on my arms and pulled out slowly, causing him to whimper softly. I made a move to roll off him, but he laid a hand on the nape of my neck.

“Wait. Stay- stay with me.”

I knew he hadn’t cum. He’d barely even got past the half-hard stage. But his eyes were so full of gratefulness and love that I felt a lump rise in my throat.

I wrapped my arms around him again, rolled us onto our sides, and pressed our bodies together, lying gentle butterfly kisses on his closed eyelids.

As we listened to each other breathing- slowly, deeply, in synchronously, I felt everything would be alright.

~~~

**Three Days Later**

Justin’s POV

“Can you describe to me how this feels, Justin?”

I swear there is nothing quite so awkward as being laid out on an examining table and having a formable matron of a doctor with her hand between you legs, fondling your balls and asking you to describe it.

I mean, what are you suppose to say? It feels like your giving me a really bad hand job? Because, honestly, that is what it felt like.

Biting back the urge to tell her Brian could do it way better, I dutifully described the sensation to Dr. Wendy Piktle as accurately as I could, blushing furiously. Finally, Dr. Piktle removed her gloved hand and wrote something down in my chart.

“Well, Justin, it looks as if you are responding well to the treatment. You have not lost any tactile sensation in your groin area which means that there has been no extensive tissue or nerve damage.”

Well, thank God for that. I couldn’t imagine life with no tactile sensation down there. That really was a scary thought.

“Now jump down,” she ordered, “Let’s get your weight.”

I cringed inwardly and braced myself for what I knew was coming next. Silently wishing the flimsy hospital gown had pockets so I could fill them with rocks, I slid off the table and stepped gingerly onto the weighing scales.

Dr. Piktle slid the weights along the bar, way past where I knew they would finally end up, and slowly pushed them back until the balance was suspended between the upper and lower bars. She didn’t say anything as she wrote down the figures, but motioned for me to sit back down on the table.

“Justin, is your mother here with you today?” she asked, turning to me. Feeling dread creeping over me, I grudgingly told her that is was Brian who had accompanied me there that day.

Pursing her lips, Dr. Piktle relied, “I would like to ask Mr. Kinney to step in here for a minute, if that’s alright with you. I assume he’s out in the waiting room?”

Feeling suddenly trapped, I nodded and she went out of the examining room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her. Shit! I was so fucking busted. She knew I couldn’t lie to her again with Brian in here.

Why were doctors so fucking smart?

May be I could make a dash for it and…and, what, run through downtown Pittsburgh in a flimsy baby blue hospital gown that barely covered my nether regions? Fuck.

But, even in my desperation, I had to give credit where credit was due, and I sent out a mental ‘thank you’ to the potential homeowners from Finland who were the reason it was Brian and not my mother who was sitting out there. At least I could be thankful for that.

Far too soon for my liking, Dr. Piktle returned followed by Brian, who took a seat in the chair next to the examining table. Cool as a cucumber.

Under normal circumstances, I would have thought Brian's cool expression totally hot, coupled with his pin-stripes and perfectly styled hair. But instead, all I could think of was how to save myself from what I knew was inevitable.

“Mr. Taylor,” Dr. Piktle began, her use of my surname confirming my worst fears, “I recall telling you at our last appointment that, at this point in time, we expect you to be gaining any weight back that you may have lost during the surgery and treatment.”

“I also recall saying-” she cut off my attempt to defend myself, “that your weight loss was considerably more than we would expect to begin with. Justin, as you are still losing weight, I can no longer continue to believe that you have been adhering to my recommendation that you rest and allow yourself recovery time. You have not been following that advice, have you, Mr. Taylor?”

Brian shifted ever so slightly in his seat.

I felt so godawful at the moment because when Brian himself had tried berating me for being too skinny, I’d told him he was a fucking hypocrite. Mr. No-carbs-after-seven- who was he to talk? Didn’t he realize that incessant nausea did not lend itself to abundant weight gain?

I did not mention that the hours I spent at the gym weight training, or the intense workouts on his treadmill when he was absent, didn’t help either.

I felt a deep flush of humiliation and embarrassment creep up my neck and face – all the evidence Dr. Piktle needed - and decided I should start taking pronto.

“I’ve been, um, working out a little,” Shit, c’mon, Taylor- if your going to own up, you may as well do it properly. “Well, a lot actually…every day. I…I was sort of scared by what you told me about losing muscle mass, and I guess…I mean, I already feel so weak all the time…I just wanted to…”

Fuck! I heard my voice was quavering on the last word. I could feel my throat suddenly closing up and heat rising in my face. I would NOT cry. I could feel Brian’s eyes on me- looking into my face, but I didn’t meet his gaze- I couldn’t.

“Justin, this is important. Tell me what kind of activity you’ve been doing, and for how long. I would like the truth this time, if you please.”

Dr. Piktle’s voice had suddenly gone hard and stern. I think I may have flinched visibly at her ‘this time’, and wanted nothing more than to sink into the hard sterile floor.

Completely defeated, I owned up to everything: the long evenings weight training at the gym when Brian thought I was studying, Brian’s treadmill when he was at work, the crunches and push-ups I did so often my abs ached constantly.

I wondered desperately if they would understand why I did it -because I wanted to come out of this healthy and strong, not crippled and weak and flabby. Because the thought of losing everything- my youth, my sexuality, my immortality- at twenty was the scariest thing I could possibly imagine.

The tears again threatened to escape, but I ordered them back savagely. I was NOT going to act like some stupid little faggot.

“Justin, I know this is frightening for you,” Dr. Piktle’s voice so soft and understanding suddenly that I felt the hot tears welling up again.

“However, you must understand that what you are doing is dangerous. Radiotherapy is an extremely aggressive treatment and by weakening your body further, you are endangering yourself to permanent, long term damage. This is the reason we stress taking it easy for at least a few months following these procedures.”

She turned slightly so she was addressing both me and Brian.

“In order to continue with the necessary levels of radiotherapy, you must gain back most, if not all, of the weight you have lost. You have to stop this intense exercise, Justin, you must. If I don’t see progress by our next appointment, we will have to take more serious measures.”

I stole a look at Brian who was nodding gravely, looking more serious than I’ve ever seen him.

“I’m also going to prescribe you with an anti-depressant which may help deal with some of the anxiety.”

She came up close to me and put a firm, but gentle hand on my shoulder, “I know this is rough for you, my dear. But you _are_ going to pull through. You are an incredible young man, Justin. Remember that.” She stood up, suddenly official again, “Get dressed, and I’ll meet you out in the lobby so we can make some arrangements.”

She left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

The tears burst forth as if my emotional flood gates had just opened, the tearing, wracking sobs shaking my entire body. I felt so helpless and defected and vulnerable at that moment, sitting on that table in my paper gown, trying desperately to grasp what had just happened.

Brian had me off the table and into his arms before I could register that he’d moved. He grasped the nape of my neck and pressed me into his chest, his arm so tight around me that I could barely breathe.

Bringing my hands up between us, I covered my face, trying to staunch the flow of high-pitched, kneading wails that I loathed myself for making. I felt him take his hand from my neck and put it around my shoulders, cradling the back of my head in his open hand, massaging it gently with his fingers and swaying us slightly back and forth.

After a time, I managed to stop and pulled away from him, gasping for the breath my sobs prevented me from taking. Brian held me close, pulling back just enough to look into my tear-streaked face.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered, feeling my face crumple again, “I’m so sorry.”

“Justin, listen to me.”

The use of my given name shocked me and I looked up at him. Brian only called me by it directly when he was deadly serious about something.

“Are you listening?” he ducked his head and looked directly into my eyes, putting his thumbs under my chin to maintain the contact. I nodded, looking directly back into the hazel depths of his eyes.

“You can handle this, you can beat it. I know you can. You know it’ll be alright.”

~~~

**Five Days Later**

“Hey, sweetheart, can I buy you a drink?”

I looked up from by position at the bar, preparing to mutter a ‘no thanks’, and stared into the face of what could easily be taken for the Angel Gabriel. It seemed to emit its own halo of brightness under the flickering lights of the Babylon dance floor.

The guy was simply celestial. My traitorous hormones were certainly not going to let me pass this one up. In my head, I quickly ran over the long list of conditions Brian had laid out for me earlier that evening that were necessary if he was to bring me to Babylon.

No dancing (‘Too much exercise, Sunshine.’), no boozing (‘It doesn’t mix with the meds very well’), no smoking (‘I don’t need you to get lung cancer, too), and absolutely no fucking, sucking, grinding, jerking, or fondling (“If anyone is going to coax your sperm out of hiding, it’s gonna be me’).

God, what was the point of coming? Or not, as the case may be.

I’d only managed to convince Brian to bring me here because I’d insisted that I needed to still feel young and alive again- that being here would ease my anxiety and help me relax. I’d used a lot of big words and threw in some psychology terminology that I’d picked up from Daphne for good measure.

Brian had finally relented, more to shut me up than because he believed any of the bullshit I was spouting.

Angel Gabriel was still looking at me with his big, round, beautiful eyes and had now rested a feathery hand on my arm. I stole a quick glance down the bar. Michael had been designated as my ‘minder’ by Brian, who was currently ‘mingling’ in the Back Room. God knows he needed some mingling time after what I’d put him through.

At the moment, my not-so-vigilant babysitter and his hubby were being taught the ‘Electric Slide’ by Emmett, who looked as if he was either doing semaphore or was trying to signal a low-flying aircraft.

It seemed unlikely that any of them would notice if their sullen charge was swept away suddenly in the arms of a gorgeous celestial being.

“Do you want to dance instead?” I asked Gabriel. Hell, this song was slow enough- we’d just…sway. I mean, c’mon, you can’t burn off the calories from a lettuce leaf by swaying.

Gabriel gave me an absolutely stunning smile and put his hands on my waist, moving us towards the dance floor. I closed my eyes, put my hands on Gabriel’s perfect muscular shoulders, and ‘swayed’ to the music.

I wasn’t entirely sure how it happened, but somehow we managed to make an irreversible quantum leap from ‘swaying’ to ‘grinding’ in a very short space of time. Before I knew it, Dylan’s “Like a Pony” was playing and we were truly dirty dancing, grinding against one another like a couple of horny teenagers.

Fuck, it felt SOO good to dance again.

_Somehow_ , Gabriel’s hand managed to find its way into my pants and _somehow_ (although again, I had no idea how) we ended up in the entrance to the Back Room.

Truth be told, I was actually rather proud of my testosterone-induced antics- it had been weeks since there’d been any sign of life from down below. It was obvious now something was certainly stirring as my body now seemed to be taking orders from my dick and not my brain.

We entered the smoky darkness and just inside the door, I pressed my celestial being up against the wall and began to rub his hard-on (I secretly hoped this might stir my malfunctioning machinery into action). I was flushed and panting hard.

Casting a lazy, lust-filled glance over my shoulder, Gabriel’s angelic face suddenly dropped like a tonne of bricks, and before I could turn around, I felt two hands seize my shoulders from behind in rough, hard grip that said ‘you are so busted’ all too clearly.

“He’s off limits.” I heard Brian’s voice snap at my soon-to-be-former dance partner. His hands moved from my shoulders to my arms, pinning them roughly to my sides in a vice-like grip.

Gabriel looked a bit shocked as he melted back into the crowd, giving Brian a look that, in my humiliation I interpreted as, ‘OK, sorry, buddy- didn’t realize it belonged to you’.

Brian spun me around, seized me hard by the upper arm and marched me over to a dark corner. I vaguely remember feeling thankful to Brian for having the compassion to not humiliate me in frount of a crowd.

Pushing me up against the brinks, he pinned me to the wall with his body and held my face with his right hand, gripping it between fingers and thumb.

“What the fuck did I tell you before we came? What did I say?” his voice was harsh, his eyes filled with irritation and…was that guilt? Fear? He gave my head a sharp shake and I mumbled a sullen reply to his question.

“I can’t hear you, Justin.” The use of my name was enough to tell me I had overstepped the line on this one. Shit. “What did I say?”

“You said…you said not to do…that,” I said more clearly, feeling ashamed and guilty. “I’m sorry, Brian…I guess I got carried away…”

“Sorry is bullshit!” he growled and moved a leg up between mine, pinning me so hard against the bricks that I couldn’t even squirm under his gaze that could have pinned a butterfly to a board.

“I brought you here under my watch, so you’re goddamn fucking well gonna play by my rules. Are we clear on that?”

I made the mistake of mumbling a sullen retort, and Brian responded by pressing his leg up between mine, making me inhale sharply at the intense discomfort.

“ _Not_ the time to get smart, Blond Boy- unless you’d rather have this conversation in the middle of the fucking dance floor. Now I said, have you got that?”

“Ouch! Yes, I’ve got it!” I squawked.

He stared hard into my eyes for another moment, increasing the uncomfortable pressure against my groin for a second before he released me altogether. I hunched over, clutching my throbbing package, knowing that I’d deserved everything I’d gotten.

I knew I must’ve been such a disappointment to Brian and knowing that brought a surge of self-hatred and pity to the surface. I shut my eyes against the tidal wave of angry emotion and savagely ordered back the tears that had begun to rise in my throat and burn behind my eyes.

Did I need to look anymore like a fucking three-year-old being given a ‘time out’?

It was so desperately, utterly, deeply unfair.

“Good.” Brian spoke after a few moments, reaching out and taking my shoulders to hold me at arms length against the wall. His voice was quieter now, more gentle, but still stern. “Because what you were just doing was not just fucking with me- it was fucking with you, too. And I won’t stand for that.”

He moved his hands and placed them on either side of my head, gently this time.

“Look at me. I meant what I said; I do want you around for a long time. But if I can’t trust you to trust me, then we’re both up shit creek without a paddle. I’m on _your side_ , Justin. But if you’re not on your own side, I just…I can’t help you.”

I leant forward and put my forehead against Brian’s, trying hard to surpress the inevitable sobs as I wrapped my arms around his neck, begging for his comfort in my actions.

“I’m _am_ sorry- no, don’t say it’s fucking bullshit! I’m so sorry, Brian. For everything. I just feel so…I just wish… I want to be me again. I want this to never have happened. This is so fucking unfair! What did I ever do to deserve this?”

Shit! Conversation completely aborted because Justin Taylor has been reduced to a pathetic puddle of moaning self-pity. Fuck!

I heard Brian sigh as he wrapped his arms around me, rubbing my back, and blowing air gently against my ear.

“Shit happens, Sunshine.” His voice was quiet, gentle, sincere, “And all you can do is roll with the punches. But you have to trust me. I want what is best for you and me, and I’ll do what I have to.”

“I know.” I gulped into his neck, “I know. I trust you. I do.”

We stood like that, holding each other, for- what? Minutes? Hours? I couldn’t tell.

When the storm had blown itself out, Brian gently pulled away and began to mop up my streaming face with the hem of my t-shirt.

“Now,” he said, dropping the material and stroking the last residual tears away with his thumbs, “I want to stay here a little longer and have a few more drinks. Or many more drinks. I need to relax.”

Fuck, didn’t we all?

“And you,” Brian levelled a finger at my face, “are not to leave my fucking sight.”

He looked at me and smirked for the first time.

“I’m seriously going to buy you a collar and leash tomorrow- we defiantly need to work on your obedience training.”

Accepting this for what it was- a peace offering- I grinned a little and let him take my hand, leading me back to the bar where (to my absolute and utter relief), it seemed as if no one had noticed our little song and dance.

Brian leaned back against the bar but didn’t let go of my hand. Looks like I wasn’t going anywhere else that night without an honour guard.

But in a selfish kind of way, the fact the great Brian Kinney was willing to stand there, in full view of Babylon’s finest, holding my hand like a lesbian made me feel good.

As I leaned back with him, watching the sweaty fags twist and gyrate to the music, I felt that whatever happened, things would turn out to be alright.

~~~

**Three Days Later**

Brian’s POV

“Is that a vibrator?”

The trick- I think it was Lee or Liam- looked up at me as my cell phone began to buzz in my back pocket.

Irritated, I directed Leroy’s mouth back to the task of sucking me off while I pulled the offending object from my pocket, squinting at the call display.

Michael. Why did he always call at the most inopportune moments?

Unwilling to be interrupted at this particular juncture, I chose to ignore it and leaned back against the pillar with one hand gripping the cold metal above my head, the other tangled in Leo’s ridiculously perfect hair.

My phone however, unimpressed with being shunned, buzzed a second time.

“Sounds like someone really wants to talk to you,” Leon remarked, looking up again.

Thank you, Captain Obvious.

“Shut up and suck harder so I can answer it.” I snapped.

I had to admit to myself afterwards that the trick (Lenny?) was good, having successfully managed to bring me from ‘comfortably aroused’ to ‘staggering climax’ just over 90 seconds. Justin could admittedly do it in less than 60- but he, of course, had worked out all the tricks of the sucking-Brian-Kinney trade.

After rewarding Lester by allowing him to clean me up and refasten my jeans, I made my way out of the Back Boom and headed towards the bar. I ordered myself several shots before hitting the speed dial button on my phone.

“Yeah?” Hunter’s irritatingly nonchalant voice answered.

“Didn’t your aunties ever teach you the finer details of phone etiquette?” I snapped in a mocked disapproving tone.

I began to idly cruse the guys standing a little further down the bar from me.

“Lemme talk to Michael.”

“What’s the magic word, Mr. Etiquette?”

Fuck, that kid was obnoxious. No wonder Michael and Ben didn’t throw him to the wolves- they’d probably have thrown him back.

“Now, you little shit. Go get Michael.”

I heard Hunter yell ‘Michael! Rage for you on line one!’, as he dropped the phone, quite literally, onto something considerably hard. If I hadn’t just spotted my next conquest looking at me provocatively from along the bar, I would have wondered if Michael and Ben would notice if their little ward accidentally-on-purpose fell down a steep-sided well…

“Brian?” Michael’s voice spoke a few moments later, and evidently hearing the background noise, he asked “Are you at Babylon?”

“No, I’m at the fucking zoo.” I replied sarcastically, “Of course I’m at Babylon- it’s Colossal Cock Night, remember? Look, I’m kinda busy here. There’s someone here who’s dying to meet my colossal cock.”

By this time, the trick, a hot young thing in leathers and a stretch top, had reached me and was now hooking his fingers into the waistband of my jeans.

“Sorry if I’m disturbing your romantic evening,” Michael replied dryly, “I was just calling to let you know that Justin’s at our place, in case you care.”

I turned abruptly, dislodging the trick’s hand from my belt.

“He was supposed to finish his shift at the diner at ten tonight, but he looked like shit, so Ma sent him home with us.”

“Is he sick?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

Justin hadn't been to radiotherapy that day- the barfing, retching, lying-on-the-bathroom-floor show wasn’t set to begin again for another two days. Had he not been OK when I’d dropped him off at the PIFA this morning?

“I dunno.” Michael confessed, “I haven’t really asked. He just, you know, looks like shit.”

Barking at him that he’d make a really shitty nurse, I cut Michael off, shot the trick (who apparently still fancied his chances at getting into my pants) a withering look, and headed for the exit.

Twenty minutes later, after having driven rather faster than I should’ve to the Novotny-Bruckner residence, I was admitted by a grinning Hunter who looked ecstatic to see me in all my clubbing splendour. (He also took no effort to hide the fact that he was oogling my goodies.)

Fucking teenagers.

I scanned the room briefly from the doorway, but I didn’t see Justin anywhere.

“Where is he?” I asked as I spotted Michael, looking a little bit startled to see me, coming out of the bedroom.

“You mean Justin?”

“No Mikey, I mean Waldo. Where’s Waldo?”

“Fuck you. Justin’s taking a bath on my mother’s orders. She tried to get him to put oatmeal in it- one of those old wives tales, you know?- but Ben had some organic flower crap that he thought would be less messy.”

“Oatmeal? That’s fucking disgusting.” I interrupted incredulously, “Your mother is now officially the reason I don’t have a bathtub in the loft…”

“You should get him out, though.” Michael continued, ignoring me completely, “He’s been in there a long time. Hunter’s been checking on him every ten minutes to make sure he hasn’t drowned.”

Biting back the urge to tell Michael that Hunter probably wanted Justin to drown, I headed in the direction of the on-suite bathroom. Pausing outside the door, I knocked softly.

“Fuck off. Leave me alone.”

Justin’s voice, sounding very tired but irritated none the less, came clearly through the panels.

“It’s me.” I informed him, “Can I come in?”

Without waiting for a reply, I opened the door, slipped in, and closed it behind me.

The room was damp and misty with steam, but I could make out Justin’s form lying completely still in the greenish water, his head laid back against the slanted head of the old fashioned clawed tub.

His pale skin and ash blond hair seemed to blend into the porcelain, and his eyes glowed intensely blue. He didn’t speak, but raised one of his arms out of the water and lifted it towards me, the fingers outstretched.

“Hey.” I said quietly, as I took his hand and knelt down by the edge of the tub. I laid a hand on his damp hair and stroked a circle onto his forehead with my thumb, finding the skin there cool and clammy. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. It’s still down.”

Oops- I kept forgetting not to use that terminology.

I leaned forward and kissed the side of his nose affectionately. He gave a small smile and said matter-of-factly “I feel like shit.”

“Yeah, you kinda look like shit. You need to get some sleep.” I dipped a finger into the bath water to test the temperature, “And sitting in a lukewarm bath is not gonna help either- even with Ben’s magic potions in there. C’mon- get out and I’ll take you home.”

“That would involve moving.” Justin’s groaned, quite truthfully, “Can’t you just take me and the tub?”

“It wouldn’t fit in the elevator. Besides, Deb would only insist on filling it with oatmeal. Now, c’mon, get up.”

I picked up the towel that was lying beside his pile of clothes and held it out to him as he climbed slowly and painstakingly out of the tub and stepped onto the bath mat. He wrapped himself in the proffered towel but made no further efforts at moving and just stood there, looking like a pathetic wet puppy.

Realizing that any further moves in the dirrection of home made on Justin's behalf were not immediately imminent, I proceeded to rub him dry with the towel which he continued to hold tightly around himself.

He sighed and leaned against me, nuzzling his face in my neck. I could smell the scent of rose and lavender rising with the steam from his skin.

Relenting to him completely, I took him in my arms with the damp towel still around him, pressing my nose into his hair, again smelling the sweet floral scent mixed into the soft ash blond strands.

Standing there with his warm, wet body against mine, the steam rising around us, and our chests rising and falling in unison, I was oddly the one who felt comforted.

“You shouldn’t have to come.”

His voice, muffled by the towel and my shirt, startled me out of my daze. He pulled away from me enough to look up into my face.

“You were supposed to go to Babylon tonight for Colossal Cock Night. I told you to go and not to worry about me.”

“I did go.” I replied, but I for some reason, I found myself unable to add the expected ‘and I didn’t worry about you’.

Instead, I opted for, “I got bored. There was nothing there worthy of the title ‘colossal’- there wasn’t even a ‘really big’.”

“That’s such bullshit.”

I could tell that if he didn’t feel so godawful, he would have launched into one of his irritating reprieves. Instead, warn out and fragile, he pressed his face into my neck again. Feeling a surge of protectiveness, I kissed his forehead and tightened my hold on him.

“Michael told me you were getting jerked off when he called. You shouldn’t have left because of me.”

I hated myself then for not being able to voice the words in my head that were desperately seeking release; ‘I’d rather be here with you when you need me than with some trick whose name I can’t even remember.’ ‘I needed to know that you were OK because I’m so fucking scared of losing you again.’ ‘I would always leave because of you.’

‘I…Love…You.’ But I couldn’t say that. I wouldn’t say that.

“It’s OK,” I said simply, rubbing his back again through the towel.

Loathing myself again for not being able to take this conversation- this confrontation- any further, I created a distraction by pulling the towel off him and using it to dry the rest of his body.

I brought the towel up over his head and rubbed his hair and when I pulled it away from his face, I found him staring at me intently with those passionate blue eyes.

He took my hand, the one that wasn’t still wrapped in the towel, kissed the palm and put it to his face, nuzzling at my fingers.

“I love you, Brian.” He whispered looking up at me again.

He knew I wouldn’t say what I wanted to. But he wanted me to know he knew, as if saying he loved me was the same as me saying I loved him. As if my thoughts were being spoken with his voice.

I put my mouth to his and kissed him hard, deeply, intensely, trying to show him I understood. Dropping the towel, I ran my hands through his hair, over his neck, his back, his belly, his buttocks and legs; stroking, soothing, caressing, learning, feeling.

He stood still and silent, letting me love him with my touch.

“Brian,” he whispered after a time, “I’m getting cold. I want to put my clothes on. I want you to put my clothes on me.”

I found this request oddly erotic and complied willingly. I dressed him slowly, one piece of clothing at a time- each button and zipper carefully attended to, each crease smoothed out, each label tucked in. I made a mental note to myself that from now on, I would insist on undressing and dressing him. Putting clothes on was almost as good as taking them off.

“Take me home.” He whispered, as I lifted him up to sit on the vanity so I could put his socks on, “I feel better. I’ll be alright.”

~~

**Five Days Later**

I fucking hate Wednesdays.

In grade ten English, I remember learning that the English idiom for Wednesday was ‘hump day’ because it was as far away from the next weekend as it was from the last. I only remember that because Mikey just about pissed himself laughing every time I acted out the physical homonym every Wednesday thereafter.

Although I had to admit that now, Mondays, on top of being crappy to start with, were usually the days Justin went in for radiation treatment, so they weren’t much fun either. Nor were Tuesdays, because I’d spend the whole of Monday night peeling Sunshine off the bathroom tiles. Actually, come to think of it, Thursdays weren’t exactly a kick-ass party either.

Fuck- I hated every weekday that wasn’t a Friday. There should be more Fridays.

I was brought back from my idle reflections on the deeper meanings of the Judeo-Christian calendar week by Cynthia’s voice on my desk intercom.

“Brian? There’s someone out here who desperately needs to see you.”

“Well, I can’t see them now- I’ve got a shitload of work to do.” I snapped back at her, “Tell them to go fuck themselves”. (That was shop talk for ‘ask them to make a goddamn appointment. Please’.)

“I think this one wants to be fucked by you,” Cynthia told me, a hint of a giggle in her voice. “I’ll tell the next few people who call that you’re out of the office, shall I? And Bri? Don’t make too much noise, OK? Some of us are trying to work.”

She clicked the speaker off. I was about to click it on at my end in order to ask her what the fuck she was talking about, when both doors to my office flew open and the embodiment of an explosive ball of energy bounded into it.

“GUESS WHAT?!!”

It took a few nanoseconds for my brain to register that the intruder was not, in fact, a small, blond rhinoceros, but was a deliriously happy Justin. He looked more ecstatic than I’d ever seen him- or anyone for that matter- his dazzling sunshine smile could have lit up the Bat Cave on a stormy night.

He began to prance energetically around my office like a ballerina, giving little kick-ball-changes every now and then and crowing, “It’s up, up, UP!!!!”

‘OK, stay calm,’ I thought. May be he was just tweaked. Or drunk. Or had just gone temporarily insane.

Rooted to the spot, it was all I could do to watch him as he waltzed around the room at high speed, swinging his arms energetically like he was trying to take off and soar away. He suddenly took a flying leap in my direction, landing on my desk with a loud thud, before crawling across it to me and pressing his lips hard against my mouth.

To say that I was surprised was a bit of an understatement.

“Didn’t you hear me?” he asked breathlessly, eyes shining, as he let me come up for air, “It’s up! I’m up! I’m rock hard! I’m not in menopause anymore!”

Click. A little slow on the uptake, Kinney?

Feeling myself suddenly elated with happiness, joy, relief, thankfulness, pride and a whole mess of other emotions I couldn’t be bothered to identify, I scooped Justin into my arms, laughing like a goddamn lunatic.

He wrapped his legs around my waist, and I spun us around the office in dizzying circles, laughing, kissing, caressing. When I got so dizzy I could not longer maintain my equilibrium, I set Justin down on his feet and knelt in frount of him, holding onto his hips.

“Show me.” I breathed.

With a flourish, Justin whipped open his fly and shimmied energetically so that his jeans slid off his hips. He raised his arms and face to the ceiling as if he were a sun-god worshipper and allowed me to admire him in all his rock hard splendour.

“Well, well, well.” I said, simultaneously removing his jeans, shoes, and socks while continuing to reveal in this sight for sore eyes, “Mr. Taylor, what are we going to do about this?”

I kissed the head of his cock ever so gently and he shuddered and clutched at my hair.

With a suddenness that made him yelp in surprise, I wrapped my arms around his legs and stood up, so that his upper body flopped over my shoulder. As I carried him over to my desk, he snickered and retaliated by sticking his hands down the back of my pants and squeezing my ass.

Swatting at his ass, I swept aside a few papers to a clear space on my desk before lowering my giggling burden onto the edge of it.

“Now lie back.” I told him, gently pressing down on his chest. He leaned back on the desk so that he was propped up on his elbows, but I shook my head, “All the way.”

Grinning at me, Justin lay down completely, spreading his arms and grabbing the edges of the desk that was level with his shoulders. I sat down in my swivel chair and manoeuvred myself so that I was between his legs. Justin raised his head and looked down at me, but I shook my head again.

“Lie back.” I told him again, stroking his belly, “Relax- concentrate on feeling.”

He did as he was told, and I moved forwards, put his feet flat on my shoulders, and held onto his hips. I placed warm, wet, sloppy kisses all along the inside of his thighs. When I got to the hollow between his legs and pelvis, I made a sudden onslaught of the sensitive skin there- biting, licking, sucking, soothing.

Justin writhed and bucked slightly, his toes curling and gripping the fabric of my Armani jacket. I strengthened my hold on him as I turned my attention to his throbbing dick, which had been sadly neglected for so long. He moaned and writhed again, trying to push off my shoulders with his feet to get more leverage with his hips.

After a few more minutes of my oral worship, Justin’s moans, muttered profanities, and bleated pleas were getting a little too loud to be ignored. He’d always been a bit of a screamer. Cynthia and Ted were used to it, of course, but I did have to be mindful of the impressionable student interns that I had just hired.

I quickly pulled him off the desk and onto my lap so that he was straddling me, his back pressed against the edge of the desktop (not exactly comfortable, but he obviously didn’t seem to mind). I continued stroking and caressing him with my hands, but pressed my mouth firmly over his in order to stifle the cascade of primordial noises he had started to make.

When Justin came, he pulled away from my mouth and instead bit down on my shoulder, uttering a sound, mercifully muffled, that was somewhere between a sob and a scream.

I savoured the feel of him as he came into my hands- relishing the warm, sticky ‘liquid Sunshine’ which I’d not experienced for what seemed like a very long time.

He sat astride me for a few seconds, shuddering slightly, before slithering off my lap to kneel in front of my chair, grasping my thigh with one hand and swiftly unbuttoning and unzipping my pants with the other. I found myself groaning and gasping as he administered his “60-second-wonder” on my painfully hard cock.

Cradling his head with both hands, I grasped at his hair, running my hands down his neck, under his shirt, and over his shoulders and back. When I came, gasping and savouring the prolonged feeling of ecstasy (although admittedly doing it bit more quietly than Justin), he greedily swallowed everything I had to offer.

I pulled him back onto my lap and hugged him tightly to me as he laid his head on my shoulder and breathed hot air onto my throat and down my neck. We stayed like that for some time, until our breathing had slowed and our heart rates had returned to normal.

“Again.” Justin demanded after a few minutes. “Fuck me.”

I had to laugh at that because Justin never changed- he was now and would always remain a demanding little twat. And I loved him for that.

“Not here.” I put my mouth right next to his ear and whispered breathily, “What I want to do with you will make you scream the house down.”

Justin apparently liked that idea as he shivered and squirmed in my lap. I stood up, with him still clinging to me, and lowered him down into the chair I’d just been sitting in.

Crossing the room while refastening my pants, I picked up his discarded jeans and brought them over to him. He reached out to take them but I shook my head and proceeded to put them on him myself.

He raised himself up so that I could pull them up over his ass, and I took advantage of the position to lay a few more kisses on his already re-hardening cock. He mewed like a kitten and arched his hips up a little further to give me better access.

Deciding to indulge, I spent a few minutes longer reacquainting my tongue with its favourite playmate. I was careful not to bring him too close- they’d be plenty of time for that later.

“I’m glad you’re back, Sunshine.” I told him, as I carefully zipped up his fly and pulled him out of the chair into my arms, “And I’m glad you ‘came’ to show me.”

“Did you ever doubt it?” he asked, wedging his head under my chin, wrapping his arms around me, and smoothing his hands over my shoulder blades. “Because I did.”

“I didn’t.” I answered, slipping my hands under his shirt to touch his beautiful soft skin, “I never doubted it. I never doubted you.”

Wanting to make sure he knew that, I put my hand on the back of his neck and my mouth on his ear, “I’ve never doubted you.”

He didn’t reply, but he tightened his hold on me and pressed his face into my shoulder. He knew.

“C’mon,’ I said pulling away and bending down to pick up Justin’s shoes and socks.

I tossed them at him and went to retrieve my jacket from its hanger and my car keys from their hook.

Fuck work. Fuck Wednesday. We were going home to celebrate.

Deciding that a dramatic exit was in order, I swooped down on Justin who squealed as I scooped him into my arms (still with one of his shoes in his hand) and swept grandly out of the office. As I carried him grandly out of the building, I called a cheery goodbye to my thunderstruck employees.

God, I was never going to hear the end of this one. But fuck it.

Tonight would be better than alright. Tonight would be fantastic.

THE END  



End file.
